Wounds Heal, Scars Remain
by Amaryllis3121
Summary: Freddie Carter moves to London looking for a fresh start, but one phone call gives him more change than he bargained for. Freddie is left behind and in his place Strayton Terrel remains. Co-written with Demolition.Lover.14.
1. Chapter 1

_Hi :). So here's a story that's written by DemolitionLover14 and myself. We'll be doing alternate chapters, so I've written the first one :)._

_Here it is- enjoy :D._

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The street was quiet except for the clatter of wheels against the uneven pavement slabs. Freddie glanced down at his loud suitcase and willed it to move along more quietly, worrying about waking up the inhabitants of the houses on either side of the road.

Just as he turned the corner onto Fleet Street, the handle of the heavy suitcase snapped off, leaving Freddie's aching arm relieved, but his mind anxious and weary. He groaned as the first drops of rain began to fall from the sky.

And then the full force of Freddie's misfortune struck him as he looked at the road sign on the side of the house in front of him.

"Harrison Street?" he muttered, fishing his unused map from his pocket. He closed his eyes, praying for patience. The stranger had sent him in completely the wrong direction.

The rain was getting heavier. Freddie stared at his suitcase with a sigh. His coat _and_ jacket were inside, where Freddie couldn't get to them due to the zip that had gotten stuck. He would have to buy a pair of pliers in the morning to get his things out. This didn't help him at that particular moment, however, as he stood in his t-shirt, shivering.

Freddie tried to get into his suitcase anyway, trying desperately to open the zip, but it wouldn't budge. He kicked it angrily, causing it to topple over onto his foot. He swore as the heaviest object- his metal box of hairdressing tools- crushed his toe.

After freeing his foot, he sat on his suitcase dejectedly. He brushed his stringy blonde hair from his grey eyes and stared at the floor.

He was tired, he was hungry, he was a long walk away from where he needed to be and he was fed up. He had moved to London for a fresh start, but so far it hadn't been exactly what he had expected.

The first thing that had gone wrong was he had missed his train to London. After hours of arguing with train station employees, he had been allowed to get on a later train when one that wasn't booked out came through. Then, once he was in London, he had got lost on his way to the nearest tube station. After almost an hour of wandering around, it turned out to be underneath the train station all along.

Then Freddie had got off the tube two stops too late, so he got back on a tube going the other way. But he had lost a bag on it, so he had to stay at the tube station waiting for it to make its way back to him, courtesy of the surprisingly helpful staff. Once he had his bag (with his map, phone and wallet still inside, thankfully), he had been all set to walk to Fleet Street, where he would take up his new residence in a flat above the chip shop there.

But the stranger he had asked for directions from had been wrong, and sent him here which- he saw on the map- was rather far from Fleet Street. And now it was raining. Heavily.

Just about stopping himself from giving up, Freddie got up. His legs burned, but he ignored them and set about half-carrying, half-dragging his bag back the way he had come. His back screamed at him as he walked hunched over, his arms ached, his whole body felt like jelly, his eyes would barely stay open, yet Freddie carried on, determined to get to his destination.

Eventually, he did arrive. By this time, he was soaked to the skin and on the point of collapse, but he still continued down the road to find the chip shop. He paused outside, looking up at the terrible pun hung over the door: _Cod Almighty._

Trying (and failing) to resist the urge to roll his eyes, Freddie stepped inside the shop and immediately felt warmed. He glanced around, inhaling the wonderful smell. When he had taken in the room, he stepped toward the counter and found himself looking at the most beautiful girl he had ever set eyes on.

It wasn't that she was particularly pretty, it was more the way she carried herself as she moved around behind the counter. She held herself with a stunning amount of grace. It seemed as though every movement was well-placed and thought out, yet she moved so quickly that there was no way she could pre-plan the placement of every limb.

Then the girl turned to look at him, her long, dark brown hair whirling around her head with her sudden movement. Her brown eyes bored into his as a small frown appeared on her forehead.

"We're closed." she said sharply.

"Are you Suzanne Beckett?"

"No." the girl said unhelpfully. Freddie gazed at her for a moment, hoping for more.

"Well is she here?" he asked bluntly.

"Yes."

He sighed.

"Could you get her for me please?"

There was a beat.

"Yes." she turned away and walked into a room to the left of the counter. "Mum!" she called. Freddie was left gazing after her, very confused.

After a moment, a brown-haired woman appeared behind the counter. She looked almost exactly like an older version of the girl. Freddie supposed she was.

"Mrs. Beckett?"

"Yes?"

"I'm Freddie Carter. I'm here about the flat upstairs."

"Oh, yes. I didn't expect to see you so late."

"I was… held up a few times."

"Oh dear. Trains, eh?" Mrs. Beckett tutted. "But still, you're here now. Come with me." she reached down and pulled out a set of keys before leading Freddie out of the chip shop and up a set of outdoor stairs. She opened the door on the balcony and led him inside.

"This is nice." Freddie remarked, glancing around at the room he was in. He particularly liked the large window on the sloping wall opposite the door.

"Hmm? Oh, yes. Well love, here's your keys. The bathroom, bedroom and kitchen's just through there. It's all furnished, just as promised. Everything besides this room is new- we had an extra floor we didn't need and decided to make this place fit for renting. We've had some trouble though."

"Trouble?" Freddie asked, staring at the door the woman had been indicating.

"Yeah. Funny things happening. You don't believe in ghosts do you, son?" she nodded as Freddie shook his head. "Good- you shouldn't have any worries then."

"What do you mean?" Freddie asked, curious. He took a seat on the sofa in the corner. Mrs. Beckett pulled up a chair and sat opposite him.

"Well we've heard strange things. Bangs, thumps. Screams. Keep telling my Laura it's nothing, but she won't believe me."

"Who's Laura?"

"The girl you just met. I apologise for her rudeness. It takes her a while to warm up to people, see. It's these noises. They've got her right scared. She's not quick to trust. Particularly not after what she's seen…" Mrs. Beckett's eyes glazed over for a moment, as though she was lost in thought. Then she shook herself. "Anyway, no point in dwelling on the past. I'd best be leaving you to get settled." and with that, she left hastily.

Freddie sighed, then hauled his suitcase through the door and down the hall, glancing in the rooms until he found the main bedroom. He dumped his suitcase in a corner and lay on the already-made bed. Mrs. Beckett didn't do things by halves it seemed.

Tiredly, he replayed his conversation with Mrs. Beckett in his mind. She was definitely hiding something. But what? He didn't know much about the history of the place, and if he wasn't so certain that there were no such things as ghosts, he would have been spooked.

Well, at the very least it would be a nice place for him to set up his new hairdressing business. And the spare room would do nicely for his mother to come and visit him. It had almost broken his heart to leave her, but he was twenty now. He had to start standing on his own.

And Laura. He would bring her out of her shell. He wondered if she spoke as much as her mother when she was with someone she trusted. Perhaps she was the opposite. Either way, he would find out, he resolved.

For the first time in his life, Freddie was in a position that had the potential to make him very, very happy. And that was why he fell asleep with a smile on his face that night.

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_There you go :). Hope you enjoyed it :P. Please review and let us know what you think!_


	2. Chapter 2

_Hiya :). DemolitionLover14 wrote this chapter, and I think it's really good, so I hope y'all enjoy it!_

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Freddie woke up with a start, automatically shooting up in his bed.

Frowning, he looked around, annoyed he had been woken from his sleep. His dream had been particularly pleasant (including vague glimpses of Laura; she was just as elegant in his dream as she was in real life) and he wasn't ready to wake from it just yet.

What had woken him?

A bang.

Suddenly, Mrs Beckett's words ran through his mind: _'Well we've heard strange things. Bangs, thumps. Screams.'_

Freddie rolled his eyes as he dismissed this. There were no such things as ghosts and he knew it. Stretching his long, awkward limbs out, Freddie swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, careful not to make too much noise. From what he could gather, it was either late at night or early in the morning. Either way, he didn't wish to wake up his new landlady, or her daughter. From what he could remember, females were never happy when woken up early, and he didn't want to get on their bad side.

Pushing the thought of Mrs Beckett and Laura being angry at him out of his mind, Freddie moved to stand by the large sloping window. There was something about this window something he liked, but he couldn't quite place his finger on it.

As he walked forwards, the floorboards creaked underneath his feet. Being too tired to unpack, his t-shirt and jeans, both still slightly damp, were rumpled and stiff. Freddie frowned as he realized how hard it was to walk in stiff clothing. Freddie groaned as he also realized he had the sudden urge to go to the toilet. Practically running as fast as he could (though it was more of a brisk walk Freddie never ran), he threw himself into the bathroom. After the bathroom, Freddie felt compelled to look inside the main room once more, to gaze out of the large window. Unable to resist, Freddie brushed the warning voice in his mind away and entered the main room. Shutting the door, Freddie caught a glimpse of his reflection in the large window and paused.

But it wasn't just his reflection that made him pause.

He saw someone else's.

It wasn't another person he saw. No, he would know if someone had entered his living space. Being rubbish at defending himself when it came to fights, Freddie's senses had developed, especially his hearing. It was a pair of eyes he saw. A pair of dark, hateful eyes glaring at him through the reflection in the window.

Freddie stared at his reflection, or rather, past it, his grey eyes searching for the dark ones. Instead of finding them, all he saw was a tall, lanky man with greasy hair and narrowed grey eyes. His arms hung awkwardly by his side and his legs were impossibly long. He sighed; Freddie was staring at himself with such hatred it surprised him. Freddie didn't hate himself he just severely disliked himself sometimes. Running a hand through his hair and scowling as it automatically flopped back onto his forehead and over his eyes again, Freddie turned away. He had, as he decided in his mind, two options. He could fight with his suitcase, find his pyjamas and go back to bed or he could explore his new home.

Sadly, the former sounded the best to Freddie. As much as he wanted to explore (he cringed at the word; explore made him sound so childish), sleep was slowly but firmly taking over his body once more.  
His shoulders slumping in defeat, Freddie turned and left the room, shutting the door behind him once more. His mind had already dismissed the image of the dark eyes, deeming it his imagination due to his sleep deprivation and long day. Shuffling into his bedroom, Freddie grabbed his suitcase, cursing as he remembered it was broken, and threw it on the bed. Had he been a stronger man, he would've wrenched it apart. Being far from strong, Freddie simply opened it bit by bit, constantly rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

Having finally opened his suitcase and making a mental note to buy a new one, Freddie dug through his clothes and found his only pair of pyjamas. Stripping out of his damp clothing and throwing them over his shoulder, he yanked his pyjamas on, threw his suitcase off his bed and lay down once more, allowing a blissful sleep to take over him.

* * *

Beep beep beep beep beep.

The persistence of the alarm clock would've woken deeper sleepers than Freddie. Groaning, his hand escaped from his safe haven of the duvet and groped along the bedside table, searching for the alarm clock. Finally finding it, Freddie slammed it off and allowed his hand to fall back down.

Yawning, Freddie reluctantly sat up, automatically running a hand through his now unruly hair. Though he was a hairdresser, he could never decide what to do with his own hair. After a quick shower, along with many curses as the water changed from steaming hot to freezing cold, Freddie sat in the kitchen and listened to the radio broadcast (he was never really one for music in the morning) while waiting for his toast. His toast finally being cooked, Freddie ate silently while reading his book, a cup of coffee sitting next to him. Now he was awake, his mind wandered back to the night before.

Freddie scowled, instantly dismissing the thought again. As he convinced himself last night, it was simply his imagination and nothing more. After getting dressed, Freddie wandered back into the room with the window. He hovered in the doorway, simply gazing inside for a moment. Something told him that this would be the room he could start his business in. But he would need to redecorate first.

Freddie grunted as he knelt down and pushed his metal box of hairdressing equipment along the corridor. Not wanting to have a repeat performance of yesterday (his poor toe was still throbbing at the memory), he decided that doing this would be the best way to move the box to the window room. "Stupid. Damn. Box!" He growled as he finally pushed it into the room. Standing up and gently massaging his aching back, he aimed a swift kick at it, cursing again as he missed and fell over.

"Smooth move." Freddie blushed as he scrambled up and glared at Laura, who stood in the doorway wearing a large smirk on her face.

"What are you doing here?" Freddie demanded. Laura grinned.

"Mum was wondering if you wanted lunch today because she doesn't mind making you some fish and chips, blah blah blah," Laura rolled her eyes. "So?"

"Yes, please. Tell her I would like that very much." Freddie muttered, turning away. In the corner of this room was a large cupboard, and he was curious as to what was inside.

"What are you doing?" Laura asked as Freddie opened the cupboard door. He ignored her, seeing a large chair sitting there. Dust and dirt covered it, dark stains splotched across the seat. "Wow, you found a chair. What next? A sofa?" Freddie continued to ignore Laura as he dragged the chair out of the cupboard, scowling as he realized how heavy it was.

"Don't bother helping, you know." He said sarcastically. Laura rolled her eyes as she pushed herself off the doorway and walked forwards, standing opposite Freddie. He stared at her incredulously.

"You pull, I push," She said. "Duh." Realizing she was helping, Freddie continued dragging the chair until it was sat near the window, directly in the sunlight that poured in.

"Er thanks." Freddie finally said, looking up at Laura.

"Don't mention it," She said, brushing past him. He watched her walk to the doorway, his heart leaping as she turned to face him again. "Seriously. Don't mention it. Ever."

Without another word, Laura spun around and left. Freddie could hear her slamming the door shut. Frowning, he shook his head. Now was not the time to start daydreaming over a girl. Especially not a moody, antisocial one.

Sighing, Freddie fell into the chair and buried his face in his hands. His mobile ringing made his head snap was sitting on the windowsill, exactly where he had left it when he began redecorating. Surprised someone was ringing him; he jumped up and grabbed it.

"Hello?" Freddie answered it quickly.

"Frederick," The stiff voice of his father replied. Freddie suppressed a groan. Frederick. He hated his name and hated it even more when his father called him that. Then again, it was either that or he just didn't speak to him at all. Surprisingly, Freddie preferred the latter.

"Hello Dad," Freddie said in a polite tone. "How are you?"

"I'm sorry, Frederick, but I am not ringing for a social reason. I'm afraid I have some bad news."

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_So what did ya think? Please review and let us know what you think so far... reviews are love!_


	3. Chapter 3

_Alrighty then, we've got a brand new chapter for you :)._

_This one was written by me, and I'd love to know what you think, so I beg of you: please review!_

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There was a long pause. A million possibilities raced through Freddie's mind before he could get his thoughts under control. Freddie could hear his heart beating in his ears. His father wouldn't have bothered to talk to him if this was something petty.

"Well?" he demanded at last.

"Your mother's died."

Freddie's thoughts started moving surprisingly slowly. His first thought was of shock at the abruptness with which his father delivered the news. His second thought was that he must be lying. It was a cruel joke, surely?

But his third thought was of how she could have died, and then the news sunk in and his mind shut down completely, numbing him against the pain that would surely start to tear him apart from the inside.

"Son?"

There was no concern in Freddie's father's voice. He was merely checking to see if he was still there. Freddie couldn't make his lips obey him to answer though. He just about managed to move his thumb to hang up the phone.

After a few moments, the phone slipped from his numb grasp. The noise of it hitting the floor jerked him out of his detached state. Slowly, he moved to the window and stared out, trying to get his head around the concept that he would never see his mother again.

How had she died? Did he want to know? Did he know if he wanted to know? No, he didn't know.

Freddie let out a small snort of laughter at his thoughts, but it was empty. There was no mirth behind the laugh. It was almost out of pity for himself.

Freddie stared at a family walking down the road. He would have to find out. Perhaps she died peacefully? Maybe she went in her sleep? He needed to know, if only so he could feel slightly more at ease. It would be worth it if the information dulled the pain inside of him even the slightest amount.

Before he knew what he was doing, Freddie had scooped up his phone and called his father. After a moment, he picked up.

"Yes?"

"How did she… die?" Freddie asked urgently, struggling on the last word.

"It was a hit and run accident. It happened yesterday morning, but the hospital couldn't get in touch until it was too late."

Freddie felt something inside of him snap.

"What?" he said sharply.

"I said it-"

"I heard." Freddie hissed. He hung up on his father for the second time that day. His eyes narrowed as he leant his hands on the back of the chair he had found earlier.

Ignorance. Stupid human ignorance. He had faced it all his life. He had experienced every kind of bullying from petty name calling to physical violence. He had been ignored in the street, spoken to rudely, seen people laugh at him because he had less than them.

Now he had seen exactly how disgusting humans were.

Humans simply ignored the damage they inflicted on other humans. They wandered around, not caring if they make an impact on someone else's life. Nothing matters to them, just so long as it's all going well.

The ache inside of Freddie was growing. It built until it became a fire, fuelled by pain and hatred. A hatred so deep and fresh that it stung. He had no idea what was happening to him, but he liked it.

Swiftly, he moved to the window. He stared out hungrily, watching the people carry on with their lives. He stood there perhaps three minutes, and in that time he saw someone almost get run over, a couple having a fight and someone knock over a box of fruit outside the greengrocer's opposite. Of course the person just hurried away, leaving the greengrocer to clean up the mess.

Freddie moved away from the window and began pacing, trying to dull the fire. It had consumed him, making him thirst for revenge against ever one who had wronged him. He wanted revenge for others who had been wronged in some way as well.

Angrily, Freddie started to knock things over. The bangs and clatters made him feel slightly better, so he carried on, until the only thing standing was the old chair, which sat by the window. Somehow, he couldn't bring himself to move it. Even the sofa lay overturned in the corner, yet the chair still stood.

Then the door burst open. Laura ran in, wide-eyed.

"All those loud bangs- what's going on? What happened in here?" she looked up and met Freddie's eyes, taken aback. "Are you alright?"

Freddie ignored her, his mind still clouded with anger. He moved back to the window, mumbling to himself:

"_There's a hole in the world like a great black pit, and it's filled with people who are filled with shit, and the vermin of the world inhabit it_."

His eyes widened and he smiled to himself as an idea took hold of him. He could make people pay for what they had done. He would harm them like they harmed others. His mother, and the other victims of ignorance, would be avenged.

The desire to sing took hold of him and he succumbed to it as the words just found their way into his head.

_But not for long…_

_They all deserve to die,Tell you why, Laura Beckett, tell you why._

Agitatedly, Freddie moved to the mirror and stared at himself in it, eyes narrowed. His irises flashed black for a second, but he dismissed it immediately as a trick of the light and carried on with his song.

_Because in all of the whole human race, Laura Beckett,_

_There are two kinds of men and only two._

_There's the one staying put in his proper place,_

_And the one with his foot in the other one's face._

_Look at me, Laura Beckett, look at you._

_And we all deserve to die._

He whirled around to face Laura, before rushing towards her. Her eyes widened as he pressed her against the wall besides his hairdressing equipment, which lay on the floor. Before she could stop him, he had dipped into it and was holding a very sharp pair of scissors to her throat.

_Even you, Laura Beckett, even I._

He dragged her to the black chair and pushed her into it, then went around the back of the chair and leaned over, still with his scissors at Laura's throat and his arms keeping her from moving. She was stock still, too terrified to move. Freddie loved the power it gave him.

_Because the lives of the wicked,_

_Should be made brief._

_For the rest of us death will be a relief,_

_And we all deserve to die._

Freddie relaxed his arms, the fury making way for despair. He frowned and bowed his head, the fire gone momentarily.

_And I'll never,_

_See my mother,_

_No I'll never,_

_Hug my mum again._

Agitatedly, he paced up and down, burning with rage once again. In his mind, he was on a street full of people. He dashed among them, brandishing his threatening-looking scissors around.

"You sir? How about a trim? Come and visit your good friend Freddie!" he dashed from person to person, opening and closing the scissors in a chopping motion. "You sir? Too sir? Give welcome to my good friend Grim!"

He halted his manic dashing about only to sing:

_I will have vengeance,_

_I will have salvation…_

He carried on darting up to people, punctuating each sentence he growled with his actions.

"Who sir? You sir? No one's in the chair, come on, come on! Freddie's waiting! I want you bleeders! You sir? Anybody? Come on people, now don't be shy!"

Freddie moved backwards slowly through the imaginary crowd, holding his scissors out in front of him.

_Not one man,_

_No, nor ten men,_

_Nor a hundred,_

_Can assuage me._

_I will have you!_

Freddie was moving again, quickly hurrying forwards, swiping out in front of him with the scissors. He couldn't see it as he was too lost in his own imaginary world, but Laura was huddled in the corner, staring at him fearfully.

_And I will find that man even if he runs,_

_And I wont be stopped until the deed is done._

Freddie felt the despair creep back in and he sunk to his knees, all energy lost. Desperately, he clawed at the ground, imagining a huge puddle with his face reflected in it. He was trying to erase himself so he didn't have to think or feel anymore.

_And my mother,_

_Lies in ashes,_

_And I'll never,_

_See her again…_

A smirk played on his lips as he stood up and held up his arms triumphantly, feeling the fire fuel him and give him strength and purpose.

_But the work waits!_

_I'm alive at last!_

_And I'm full of joy!_

Freddie stood for a moment, panting with exhaustion. He had worn himself out. He blinked and found himself back in the flat above the chip shop. He looked around exultantly, and then his eyes fell on Laura. Swiftly, he closed the gap between them and pressed the scissors to her throat once more. He didn't know what had gotten into him, but he felt confident and… powerful.

"Tell no one about this. Understand?" he asked sharply. She nodded, eyeing the scissors warily. It didn't seem like the most threatening weapon in the world, but the scissors were razor sharp and could have easily been driven into her throat.

He grabbed her collar and almost dragged her out the door, but he was still partially Freddie, so he let her go almost immediately. Slowly, she moved to the door before hesitating.

"I want to help." she said quietly. Freddie hadn't seen her look so vulnerable before, but now her dark brown eyes were swimming with emotions that Freddie couldn't quite understand. He was more intrigued as ever.

"Perhaps." he nodded, and Laura gave a quick smile before leaving. Freddie collapsed onto the black chair and scowled to himself. There was a lot he needed to sort out in his mind.

First, he had to figure out what had happened to him. He was filled with a burning desire for revenge on every human who had wronged him, and then the ones who had wronged others. The thought of vengeance eased his mind slightly, and the part that was still him was worried.

Secondly, Laura. She was a mystery. Something had happened to her. Perhaps she could be a useful ally. And Freddie did enjoy her presence, he thought with a half-smile.

Thirdly, him. He needed to change. He wasn't the same man he was before. There were too many other emotions in his mind, too much monster that he could feel his humanity slipping away slowly, consumed by the hatred and anger bubbling away inside him. Perhaps he should show that change?

Black. He would dye his hair black. And he could probably do with a new name- one to suit his new self.

Strayton Terrel.

Freddie smiled. That was perfect.

Slowly, Strayton stood, shedding the last of Freddie in the process.

* * *

_So what did you think? I'll ask again, please review- reviews are love!_


	4. Chapter 4

Black.

All Freddie - no, Strayton could see as he slowly ascended was black.

A tight smile spread across his face. Black hair, black heart, black soul. It was all black.

Black was a formal, elegant, and prestigious color, everything Strayton thought himself to be. It was powerful. He felt powerful.

Without thinking about it, Strayton reached out and picked up his sharpest pair of scissors, holding them close to him, as if they were a newborn baby. His tight smile grew as he continued staring at his reflection.

He was powerful.

His whole life had been a living hell, shunned by his father for not being boyish enough and teased by his classmates for being himself. But now...now it was going to change. Strayton wasn't going to let anyone hurt him ever again.

As he left his bathroom, his hair began to dry. Not too sure as to what to do with the style just yet, Strayton let it dry naturally. As a result of this, his usually dead straight hair curled slightly. It was different but, as he passed a mirror, Strayton decided he liked it.

Walking into the room with the big window and sitting down, Strayton held his scissors up again, examining them in the light.

They were so...beautiful.

The way the scissors just seemed to gleam in the light, almost speaking to him. They had been locked away for the duration of the move, hidden from the world, but now they were free...he hadn't seen anything more beautiful.

Well, except a certain Miss Beckett downstairs.

Strayton smirked. Laura was intriguing. Very intriguing.

_"These are my friends. See how they glisten. See this one shine, how he smiles in the light. My friend. My faithful friend..."_ He sung softly to himself.

"Freddie!"

Strayton jumped up, quickly tucking the scissors into his pocket, as Mrs Beckett walked in.

"Freddie, love, I've just - oh my!"

Mrs Beckett stared at Strayton in shock, her brow furrowing and her lips parted as if to speak.

"Hello, Mrs Beckett." Strayton greeted her quietly, politely.

"Freddie, dear, what have you done?" Mrs Beckett asked. Strayton flinced at the word Freddie.

"Strayton." He muttered.

"Pardon?"

"My name is not Freddie Carter. It's Terrel, now. Strayton Terrel."

"Oh...Strayton...that's an...unusual name."

Strayton didn't respond, his eyes simply staring into Mrs Beckett's. Pleasure ran through him as he realized how uncomfortable and unnerved she was.

"Well...Strayton...Laura has told me about your mother," Mrs Beckett said carefully. "And I've just come up to tell you that if there is anything you need, anything at all, you can come and talk to me, alright? I'll help you, love."

Strayton nodded once. "Thank you, Mrs Beckett."

Mrs Beckett smiled. "That's alright."

As she turned to leave, Strayton spoke again.

"Mrs Beckett."

"Yes?"

"Could you please tell your customers that I am now open for business, should they require a haircut. I specialise in men, mainly."

Mrs Beckett blinked. "Of course..."

"Thank you."

Mrs Beckett finally left, leaving Strayton alone with his thoughts.

The next day, however, wasn't so peaceful.

While Strayton stood by the window, carefully polishing the blades of his scissors and wondering if he would get any business, there was a soft knock at the door.

"Come in," Strayton reluctantly called.

"Ok, about yesterday, I - what the hell have you done to your hair?"

Laura stared at Strayton - or, as she still knew him, Freddie - in shock, a comical mirror to her mother.

"I changed it."

"No shit."

Laura ran her eyes down Strayton, her eyes getting wider and wider as she took in more detail. He stood differently, taller and more confident.

"Wow, Fredders, what - "

"NO!" Strayton shouted so suddenly it made Laura jump. "Not Freddie. Strayton! My name is Strayton!"

Laura felt a little uneasy. "Ok...Strayton..."

Strayton ignored her as he went back to polishing his blades.

Just then, Mrs Beckett also walked in.

"Strayton, love, there's someone here to see you. Should I send them up?"

Strayton nodded, not really listening. Mrs Beckett smiled as she bustled off. With her gone, Strayton glanced up at Laura.

"Well?"

Laura glared at him, understanding the dismissal, before following her mother silently.

A few minutes later, Strayton could hear someone approaching the room.

"Well, well, well, Freddie. Look at you."

Strayton froze.

He knew that voice.

Turning slowly, he saw Harry Johnson stood behind him.

Harry Johnson was the same age as Strayton, and had been the most dominant of bullies in his life. It began when they were only young. Thier parents were very friendly, and often pushed the two boys together while they discussed the latest affairs with glasses of wine and expensive chocolates.

Strayton could remember very clearly how Harry would destroy his toys, throw them out the window, hide them from him and generally make his life a living hell.

As they got older, the bullying got worse.

"Get out." Strayton hissed, his fists tightening. Harry smirked.

"Ooh, touchy," He laughed in an obnoxious manner, making Strayton scowl. "That's no way to treat your customers."

"I said, get out."

Harry ignored him, swaggering forwards.

"Shame about your mother, really," He said casually. "What was it? A hit and run?" Harry snorted. "Oh well. It deserved her for being such a stupid cow."

Strayton watched Harry with a murderous glint in his eyes.

"Y'know, it's her funeral next week. You going? I am," Harry's smirk grew. "Do you have any idea who hit her?"

"No." Strayton said stiffly.

"Wanna know a secret, Fred?"

Strayton stood his ground as Harry walked forwards, standing so they were nose to nose.

"I know who killed your mother." He whispered.

Strayton narrowed his eyes.

"You don't even know the day of the week, let alone the bastard that killed her." He said venomously. Harry laughed.

"Oh, so the mouse can roar!" He said in delight. Suddenly, his expression changed from a gleeful one to a serious one. "You wanna know how I know?" He asked. He smirked. "Because it was me. I killed your mother."

"Shut up."

"I'm telling the truth. I didn't know it was her when I hit her, but when I saw her in my rearview mirror, do you know what I did?" Harry leant forwards, a spiteful and malicious gleam in his eyes. "I reversed and ran over her again and again and again."

Strayton couldn't help it.

His anger had taken over him.

All the years Harry had tormented him, abused him, humiliated him. All the years he had called him names, hit him, thrown things at him. All the years he suffered, lying in his room and crying because he was so weak. It had built up and was now taking over Strayton's actions.

Strayton lunged for his throat.


End file.
